


Locked in love

by Lemurafraidofthunder



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Padlock, love lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:43:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1550888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemurafraidofthunder/pseuds/Lemurafraidofthunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras comes up with the brilliant idea of love locks where a couple write their initials on a padlock, lock it onto a bridge and then throw the keys into the water. Grantaire is reluctant at first, then gives in, but doesn't really give in at all. Hurt feelings ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locked in love

**Author's Note:**

> So this is done from [this prompt](http://courfeyr4c.tumblr.com/post/66800737236/my-sister-came-home-from-a-mini-break-in-paris)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't really think you should do this lock thing because it's not nice to neither nature nor the person whose job it is to keep a city clean. I also think that Enjolras would be against it, but let's imagine that it's not irresponsible and bad for the environment just for now ;)

“This is ridiculous,” Grantaire laughs as Enjolras holds up the package in front of him. The proposal he has just heard is too corny to have come from the headstrong, revolution loving man that he’s fortunate enough to call his boyfriend.

“No, it’s like something you do, they say it’s romantic,” the blond argues and he tries to open the plastic packaging but fails horribly. 

“You know, for a padlock the packaging is a little too hard to open. I mean, how are you supposed to get your things locked if you can’t even get to the lock?” Enjolras looks up and smiles in a way that makes Grantaire feel giddy. He grabs for the padlock that Enjolras has bought and snaps it open with a single motion. He takes out the padlock and two identical keys. 

“I still think it’s extremely corny and cliché to let a padlock locked to a bridge with thrown away keys symbolize our everlasting love.” Grantaire is aware of his own mocking tone, but he just can’t help it. Enjolras usually isn’t this dorky and hopeless even though he has been increasingly soft ever since they got together. It’s both endearing and frightening to see him put so much of his attention to Grantaire instead of his beloved Cause. It’s not like Grantaire really deserves it, but every time he tries to convince Enjolras of it they end in an ugly fight. So Grantaire has just kept quiet and enjoyed the experience as long as it lasts. He’s the cynic after all, everybody knows it and he’s surprised that no one has called him out on it yet. Not on his relationship with Enjolras, they haven’t. Not even Courfeyrac or Combeferre. Courf did however give him a ridiculous version of the “If you hurt him so god help me…” that had made Grantaire bend over laughing. He couldn’t ever hurt Enjolras not in a million years, not if he wanted to. 

“Now what’s wrong with being a little romantic?” Enjolras asks and grabs the hand that holds the lock and keys to pull Grantaire closer. Grantaire doesn’t object, but he does let out a little huff of laughter.

“Romantic with capital R, with all that eternal love and big emotions,” he says and his smile is so close to Enjolras’.

“I guess I have a thing for R’s,” Enjolras responds, rolling on that R and ending his sentence with a kiss to Grantaire’s lips. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you do,” Grantaire breathes and presses his free hand on the small of Enjolras’ back, pulling them flush against each other as he deepens the kiss. He bites at the other’s lower lip and wishes he could just drop the padlock and make Enjolras forget about it. It doesn’t feel like a good idea. But just as if he’s reading his mind, Enjolras reluctantly pulls away and guides the hand with the padlock up between the two of them.

“We gotta write our initials on it before we lock it on,” he says and it elicits another sputter of laughter from Grantaire who draws back, but does it gently.

“Come on, it’s sweet, not silly,” Enjolras argues and Grantaire does nothing but raise an eyebrow.

“Alright it’s silly, but that doesn’t matter. Your inner cynic can’t be that cynical can it?”

“It’s not inner, it’s all over and all the way through and if it wasn’t cynical what would it be?”

“Come on, indulge me,” Enjolras pleads and it’s so rare that he pleads for anything. Grantaire sighs and walks to his stash of art supplies – which is really just the whole of his apartment.

“I’m guessing that you want something like a permanent marker, right?” he asks while rifling through a myriad of pens.

“It’s almost as if you’re reading my mind,” Enjolras exclaims with a feigned surprise and a very real smile. They both know that they know each other inside out for better or worse, mostly better up until now. Mind reading wouldn’t be too far of a shot.

“Here, got one that actually works,” Grantaire says after having tested a handful of permanent markers. 

“Red,” Enjolras comments when he sees the cap of the marker.

“Yeah why not, you like that colour.”

“And it has symbolic resonance.”

“A symbolic resonant colour on a thing that is basically a symbol and nothing else, how fitting.”

“Oh come on, appreciate the symbolic value. You’re supposed to be an artist, aren’t you?”

“Not all art works with symbols,” Grantaire says slowly, “some of it deliberately lacks them.”

He’s not entirely sure of what he’s trying to say and the narrow look in Enjolras’ eyes makes him reconsider saying anything. He pops the cap off again and opens his fist to show the plain padlock. 

“You want to do the honours?” he asks and gets a shake of the head from Enjolras.

“No, your handwriting is prettier than mine,” he says and at another raised eyebrow he adds, “for this kind of thing at least. You do swishy big letters when you want to, even though you try to keep them secret behind that scrawl you normally use.”

Grantaire looks at him for a moment, a little surprised. He knows that Enjolras knows practically everything about him, from his previous drinking problem to his secret love for sketching cute animals, but he thought the calligraphy studies he has done – and enjoyed doing – were kept well hidden from any prying eyes. 

“Where’d you see any of that?” he asks and Enjolras doesn’t shrug it off like Grantaire thinks he might.  

“Well for one, your signature on your art is always this swishy beautiful R,” he starts with a sincerity that has Grantaire startled, “and also sometimes you just forget to scrawl and write prettily. I’ve seen it on some of your notes to yourself. Do you really think I don’t notice stuff like that?”

A slight frown has formed on Enjolras’ brow, but it’s entirely wondering and not angry at all. Grantaire doesn’t know what to say. He barely notices how he writes to himself at all, why does Enjolras? 

He simply puts the felt tip of the marker to the golden surface of the lock and with a swift motion writes _ExR_. Without thinking about it, he has copied the way Enjolras does the first letter of his own signature and put together with his own _R_ it fits very well even though they are very different in style. 

“See, it’s much prettier than what I’d be able to do,” Enjolras says with a smile not noticing the likeness of the E to his own signature. He might notice Grantaire’s writing but apparently he can’t recognize his own handwriting if it is staring him in the face. Grantaire shrugs.

“Did you want to go hang it up now?” he asks and has to admit to himself that perhaps this silly idea isn’t so bad it hurts after all. If he can just keep his dark cynic heart from doing anything stupid.

“What did I say about mind reading me?” Enjolras smiles and grabs Grantaire’s hand to drag him to the door. They throw on jackets because even though it’s spring it’s still early and cool in Paris in the evening. The sun is just about setting when they reach the street and continues sinking as they walk the streets comfortably hand in hand. This might just be the part Grantaire loves most about being with Enjolras. The quiet moments where it’s so easy and there’s nothing important except for just the two of them. They’re just walking and either not talking or not talking about anything big. It’s peaceful and he likes to wrap himself in it and believe that it can be just like this forever. They never end up fighting when they’re just strolling.

The sun is completely gone when they reach the bridge and the sky has taken on the mix between sunset red and dusk blue that looks like the colours are fighting for control of the sky. Day and night both trying to take over the moment and somehow creating something beautiful as a result. It itches in Grantaire’s hands to paint this scene, but that’s not what he’s here for. He’s here for Enjolras who leads him by the hand to the fence where what seems like everyone else in Paris has had the idea before them, well before Enjolras. The lock is still clutched in Grantaire’s hand and Enjolras has taken the keys so they co-operate in getting the padlock unlocked. Grantaire then offers it to Enjolras because after all he was the one with the grand idea. The blond doesn’t question this, he only accepts it and finds a suitable place and locks the silver neck around a metal thread in the fence. The lock clicks effortlessly and there’s only one thing left to do. One single key, is placed in Grantaire’s palm with its twin in Enjolras’ hand and all he can do is stare at them for a moment. 

“Ready?” Enjolras asks and interrupts the silence that has lingered ever since they stepped onto the bridge. Grantaire isn’t sure he is.

“Wait, like do we throw it or just drop it into the water?” he asks. 

“Wouldn’t it be a little tame to just drop it?” Enjolras says with a slight frown that makes Grantaire smile.

“Always the dramatic and passionate Enjolras,” he remarks and it’s this strange blend of fondness and sarcasm. Enjolras only hears the fondness, he’s sure, because he smiles too. Grantaire stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans and his fingers brush against the few coins of spare change he always seems to carry around. His grip on the key falters and his fingers, all by themselves, study the edge of a coin. He doesn’t show anything and pretends to take a long yearning look at the scene before him. His eyes travel from the river below to the houses on its sides to the many locks on the fence to that single lock with two familiar letters on it. Symbols are big, they are important. Just like Enjolras said, he does appreciate the worth and importance of symbols. As an artist he has to. 

“We could also drop it, if you don’t want to throw,” Enjolras offers with a soft voice. He has apparently taken Grantaire’s silence to mean reluctance to the dramatic. Grantaire shakes his head.

“No no, I’m fine with that,” he responds, “whatever you want.” He lets go of the key entirely in his pocket and grips onto the coin instead. When they move their arms in sync back and throw, it’s the coin that leaves Grantaire’s hand and flies next to the key Enjolras threw. It’s impossible to discern the two objects as different except for the first split second, but Enjolras is almost looking more at Grantaire so that isn’t a problem.

When Enjolras moves closer to take his hand and lean in for a kiss, Grantaire can’t help but patting the key in his pocket with his free hand. Because as much as he loves this and loves Enjolras there has to be an out for the pretty blond man who cannot possibly not change his mind at some point. They walk home with Enjolras talking animatedly and Grantaire smiling wistfully whenever he looks away from his boyfriend. This was the best way.  
  
———  
  
A few weeks on, where nothing has changed except for Courfeyrac laughing his ass off when they told him about the lock thing, Enjolras and Grantaire are scooped up on Grantaire’s worn out but surprisingly comfortable couch. They are busying themselves respectively with a book and a sketchbook while leaning against each other and there’s a quiet and peaceful air surrounding them. Enjolras doesn’t per se break the peace, but at least the silence when he speaks.

“Don’t you have a copy of this? I’d like to read your notes on it,” he says holding up the philosophy book that, Grantaire in fact has a copy of. Before he can say anything Enjolras speaks again, with a smile this time.

“And don’t say anything like that you don’t note down comments in your books, I know you do, I’ve seen them.” 

Grantaire holds up his hands in surrender and says, “But do you want to read them? That’s the question.”

“Yes I want, your opinion matters to me even though we disagree on almost anything. Your arguments keep me sharp.” Grantaire just waves at him, not sure what to answer to that and looks back at his sketch.

“Sure, whatever, it’s in my bedroom somewhere, go get it Apollo.”

“You know I don’t like it when you call me that,” Enjolras comments as he rises from the couch.

“Yeah sure, but it keeps you sharp.” If Grantaire’s gaze follows Enjolras to the bedroom door with a soft smile on his lips, nobody will know about it. He tries to focus on his work, but instead he keeps getting back to how Enjolras always says things like that. Grantaire seldom believes it, but every time he hears words like that with the fondexpression that comes with them he finds himself struggling to keep in mind that this is not real and that Enjolras will change his mind when he comes to his senses. It’s one thing to be infatuated with someone like Grantaire, but it’s something entirely different to try and love him. Enjolras will see it at some point and it’s going to hurt like hell because Grantaire is indulging in this dream now. Sometimes he does stupid things just because they feel good in the moment. He forces himself back to the drawing and when he hears Enjolras call, “Grantaire?” he doesn’t have to look up to hear the frown in his voice. He looks up anyway, because the tone of Enjolras’ voice bids him to and immediately freezes. In the door way Enjolras is standing with his feet apart, a frown on his face and a single golden key in his hand. 

“Grantaire,” he repeats slowly as if it hurts to get the words out, “what is this?”  
He clearly knows what it is, otherwise he wouldn’t look that way and he wouldn’t sound like that. Grantaire shifts uncomfortably on the couch, not knowing what answer to give. 

“It’s nothing… just-” he tries but is interrupted by Enjolras stalking across the tiny living room.

“It’s not nothing!” There’s a shrill edge to his voice as he holds out the key for Grantaire to see. He practically shoves it in his face and Grantaire uses all of his willpower not to look away. Instead his eyes fixate on the small, ridiculous, troublesome object. It’s just a key, he tries to tell himself, but he knows that it’s not. It’s a symbol and he’s sure that Enjolras knows that he knows that. He won’t believe that Grantaire just forgot or made a simple mistake, because he knows that Grantaire understands symbols. He has to try anyway.

“It’s a key, Apollo,” Grantaire says and attempts a shrug that feels all wrong in his shoulders. At this Enjolras sends him a look that would burn up his soul, had he any, and grabs him by the front of his shirt yanking him to his feet. Now, with their faces close and nowhere else to look, Grantaire notices the hurt in the eyes of Enjolras. The blue of his is not the usual calm sea to drown in, but a stormy ocean of emotion and there’s a whole palette of pain in just that one colour. Something sinks inside of Grantaire and a cold heavy weight falls on him when he can do nothing but maintain the eye contact. He almost misses when Enjolras breathes out words that are so quiet he’s not sure it’s not really silence.

“Grantaire, what does this mean?” The grip on his shirt is tight and unrelenting, but the voice is trembling in a way he’s never heard Enjolras’ voice do before. Enjolras is never wavering, never vulnerable and never ever hurt. He’s the most determined and strong willed person Grantaire knows and Enjolras is never hurt. But he is now. 

“It’s an out,” he answers just as quietly and just above a whisper. He see’s the words register in Enjolras and how his face falls when they have been worked through. A small sigh leaves Enjolras mouth and Grantaire can feel it on his skin.

“Listen if you never believed in this– if you don’t want-“

“No, you don’t understand,” Grantaire interrupts with wide eyes, “it was an out, for you, Enjolras.”

The disbelieving look Enjolras sends him at that is both surprising and expected on Grantaire’s part. Expected because he knows that Enjolras doesn’t believe that he’ll change his mind and surprising because of the intensity of the disbelief. 

“I don’t want it. Grantaire, I don’t want an out,” he says, forming every syllable with care and clearly putting everything he can behind the words. Grantaire doesn’t believe him, even if his way with words is hard to fight, he can’t let himself be lulled into an illusion where Enjolras will love him forever. 

“You don’t want it now, but I kept it because I know that, at some point down the line, you will change your mind. You’ll tire of me or you’ll decide that it’s in fact too annoying that I keep arguing your every point. You’ll find out that I’m not easy to love, it’s not even easy to love myself, and that it’s too much work to get me out of my funk compared to what good I can give you.” He doesn’t even mean to say all those things that he has been thinking ever since the beginning but they all tumble out of his mouth. Enjolras’ grip on his shirt has lessened gradually with his words and now he breaks eye contact to look at the hand. He grabs it with one of his own and gently pries the fingers off the fabric. The hand drops.

“Grantaire…” Enjolras has even parts affection and hurt in his voice and it’s painful to have his name pronounced like that. Especially when Grantaire has heard his name in so many ways from Enjolras’ lips. He’s heard it snapped in the middle of an argument where he’s crossed the line. He’s heard it in a questioning and uncertain way when Enjolras asks him something he doesn’t know the answer to beforehand. He’s heard it sighed with contentment and screamed and groaned with pleasure. He’s never heard it like this and he would give the world to never hear that heavy pain in Enjolras’ voice. Grantaire snaps his eyes up again, in surprise, because Enjolras is not vulnerable like that, but steels himself against that. He has to have some sense of self preservation right?

“You don’t really think that I would do that, do you?” Enjolras asks and something turns in Grantaire because he can’t figure out if he’s lying or not when he says, “I know you will.”

There’s anger in the blue eyes now and Grantaire can handle anger. He has seen those eyes sparkle with wrath and that beautiful mouth set in firm lines and he has heard the rapid breathing a thousand times before and he has, well not handled it, but survived it. And maybe if he just gives his worst, Enjolras will see exactly what he means.

“You will Apollo, because the two of us don’t fit and at some point it’ll break,” he says and sighs, “you think I don’t know you well enough to be sure of that?”

“I start to think you don’t know me at all, R,” Enjolras says with a low and dangerous voice, rolling not as fondly as usual on the nickname. When Grantaire looks down he sees the other’s hands balled into tight fists, one of them holding the key still, he knows even if he can’t see it.

“What do you want me to say?” He asks and shrugs despondently.

“I want you to realize that I’m not gonna be a jerk like that, that I would never do anything that terrible to you,” Enjolras argues and he’s leaning in on Grantaire and crowding him. Enjolras is always very convincing when he puts his all into it, but Grantaire manages to stand his ground.

“That’s the thing with you, you’re charming but capable of being terrible. Don’t tell me otherwise, I’ve seen it done,” he says and looks back into Enjolras’ with a stubborn glint in his own eyes. Something in Enjolras shatters, he can almost hear it as cannons booming and glass falling as he sees the face before him change. The anger’s still there and so is the hurt but now they’re mixed in a whole new way. 

“Keep it then,” Enjolras hisses and shoves the key into Grantaire’s hand. He leans in so much that he almost closes the distance between them, but in the last minute he jerks away and stalks to the door. 

“Just know this; I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t ever do that to you, and if you weren’t such self-deprecating cynical idiot, you’d see that,” he says and with that he’s gone. The slam of the door rings through Grantaire’s head for a long time while he just stands in the middle of the room with a single golden key in hand. But what has his brain running in circles are the words he just heard.  
  
———

  
To: Enjolras  
 _meet me at the bridge at 8pm, E_

  
Grantaire looks at the message and thumbs a little at the screen of his phone before hitting send with a doubtful heart. It’s noon and he awoke several hours ago with a thundering in his head that made him question his actions last night after the fight. As he recalls, he didn’t touch a drop of alcohol, he never really does anymore, but the feeling he has when he closes his eyes suggests otherwise. After thinking it through for a long time he settles on it being a regular but cruel headache, because he really didn’t drink.  
He almost throws the phone away onto the sheets, but then reconsiders and quickly spell out a single word text and sends it too.

  
To: Enjolras  
 _please?_

  
The phone falls on the bed and lies abandoned next to a small golden key that has way more meaning than what good is while Grantaire tries to turn the day into something normal by showering and eating something between breakfast and lunch that is definitely not brunch. He feels too unsettled and restless to convince himself that nothing is out of the ordinary. Everything from the night before keeps churning in his head and Grantaire’s inner cynic keeps telling him that he knew something like this would happen. A big fight, bigger than their usual bickering and yelling, but admittedly he hadn’t expected to ever see hurt on the face of Enjolras. It has always been the other way around where Enjolras has all the power to crush Grantaire if he ever wants to. Grantaire has loved Enjolras ever since he laid eyes on him the first time, not so the other way around, and he’s never even considered the possibility that Enjolras might be hurt too. Self-deprecatingly, Grantaire has always imagined their inevitable break up with his heart breaking and Enjolras being fine. He has dreaded and expected the day, but now when it seems like it doesn’t completely fit his imagination, it feels wrong. He doesn’t want to hurt Enjolras, that was never his intention and he would go out of the way to keep Enjolras safe and well and happy. So why does it seem like his action towards this, keeping the key, has had the exact opposite effect? Something has to be done, and he has to do, so that’s why he texted Enjolras.  
  
When the phone buzzes beside him it’s several hours later and it’s very uncharacteristic of Enjolras to take that long to answer. Only when he has to form a long or particularly precise and complicated answer does he take that long.    

  
From: Enjolras  
 _…i’ll be there_

  
Grantaire eyes the text sadly. It says almost nothing to an unsuspecting eye, but almost everything to him. He can feel the reluctance and sadness in every of the three dots and the defeat in the missing capitalization of the i. The time it took for the text to be written put up against the shortness of it hints at the likeliness that several different attempts of an answer has been written out and deleted again. The whole thing screams unhappiness from Enjolras and it’s all Grantaire’s fault. At least he’ll be there.  
  
The sun hasn’t set yet when Grantaire sets his foot on the bridge with the many locks. It is hovering somewhere not to far from the horizon though and the sky is is only light blue for a little while more before it will turn into the colorful sunset and dusk that he remembers from the evening they put up the lock. He fingers at the key in his pocket and walks briskly towards the spot of the matching lock. He sees a figure leaning against the railing at the exact spot and it doesn’t take more than a split second for him to recognize the guy as Enjolras. There’s something wrong about him though, the shoulders are hunched and his head drops low between his shoulder blades. There’s not much of the revolutionary in the blond man who is looking out over the water, and it makes Grantaire falter in his steps. He doesn’t stop before Enjolras has heard him though, because the man looks up and if Grantaire wasn’t hurting all the way through his body, he sure is now. He doesn’t know what to say to that look Enjolras sends him, but he doesn’t have to because as soon as the other man sees him he turns towards him and speaks.

“Look, if you don’t- if you don’t want this,” he says almost stumbling over his words at first, but steels himself before he continues, “then you can just unlock it. I can’t keep you in this if you don’t believe in it. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair for me…”  
Enjolras stops in his tracks and looks down at his hands, leaving Grantaire at a loss for words and staring, eyes wide.

“I just- I didn’t think this was what you wanted,” Enjolras finishes and his eyes stay down. Grantaire cannot stand to look at the man he loves this way. The man who loves him. 

“I- I don’t want to unlock it,” he stammers and steps closer. Enjolras’ head snaps up and Grantaire wants to put his arms around him, but he doesn’t. He’s not sure he’s allowed to do that. Besides he has something else to do. He pulls out the small key and holds it up for Enjolras to see. 

“Isn’t that why you texted me? So we could get it over with?” Enjolras asks and a small frown appears on his face. One completely made of confusion.

“No, I just… I was an idiot alright?” Grantaire says, “I was self preserving because I was sure the only one to get hurt would be me and I was wrong. You know, you’re always the strong one and the one who isn’t touched by anything. I’m the emotional wreck, hell, I’m a wreck in any aspect.”

“You’re not a wreck,” Enjolras disagrees and there’s that usual firmness back in his voice. The one he uses to convince people of things. Grantaire lets out the smallest of laughs that has just the tiniest bit of relief in it.

“I am, I really am Enj, but I guess it doesn’t matter to you because you keep me around,” he says, “but what I’m trying to say is that…” His voice fades when he tries to find the words that will be good enough. Enjolras looks at him, his face shifting through too many emotions, but stays silent.

“That I can’t just take for granted that I know what you will do and how you feel, when you keep telling me otherwise. Can you believe me when I say I’ve just got some trust issues that have absolutely nothing to do with you?” There’s false laughter in his voice because what he says is all too true to be easy. Enjolras must be sensing this because he reaches out a tentative hand to hold Grantaire’s. His slender fingers braid gently into the much rougher ones.

“I can,” Enjolras says softly and how has this gotten to be Enjolras comforting Grantaire just like usual when it wasn’t Grantaire who was hurt. Well he was too, but it was supposed to be more about how he hurt Enjolras and how he will do anything to keep himself from ever doing that again. 

“But it doesn’t change the fact that I would do anything for you,” Grantaire says and holds up the golden key, “I’ll even give up on my cynical dark heart and try my best at letting myself just believe in us.” 

Then slowly, he turns, not letting go of Enjolras’ wonderful hand in his, and he throws the key out into the air and watches it fly through until it’s lost to his eyes somewhere between the bridge and the water. He doesn’t hear the sound of the key hitting the water and sinking. He does feel Enjolras squeeze his hand and turns back to see the smile that has spread across the blond’s face. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t just do this the first time round,” he says but Enjolras simply puts his arms around him and pulls him close.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize it would be this hard for you to do,” Enjolras answers saying the words into dark curls and then pulling back to look at Grantaire’s face before he leans in again this time for a kiss. As their lips meet, still half smiling, Grantaire can’t help but think that maybe he might be locked in love with Enjolras, but it’s the other way round too, and it’s not so bad at all.


End file.
